


fire like blood

by yakyuu_yarou



Series: wilde week 2020 [4]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: (Apophis), (except it’s a dragon that dies at the end), Anal Sex, Assassination, Barbed Penis, Betrayal, Character Death, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Murder, Rough Sex, Sex Magic, Snuff, excessive use of metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:01:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27604586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yakyuu_yarou/pseuds/yakyuu_yarou
Summary: Wilde had ever been ready to doanythingfor the mission. This was no different — only the mission was.Written for Wilde Week 2020, Day 5.
Relationships: Apophis/Oscar Wilde (Rusty Quill Gaming)
Series: wilde week 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2016050
Comments: 14
Kudos: 28
Collections: A Wilde Week 2020





	fire like blood

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I have very little explanation for this beyond "the idea hit me and I ran with it".  
> Enormous thanks to the glorious [SingingShantiesAllTheWay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SingingShantiesAllTheWay/) for editing this and then living with my horrible whining when my brain blanked as I tried to fix things 💙
> 
> Prompt for today:  
> Day 5 - “Patriotism is the virtue of the vicious”
> 
>  **Meritocrats** /Harlequins | Virtues | **Viciousness**

There was fire licking at his insides, and Wilde whined, loud and unrestrained. It was a sound of thirds: one part pleasure, one part pain, and one part aimless desperation. It was a plea for more, a request for mercy that he knew would never be obeyed, and a final, futile warning of what was to come.

Apophis pulled back slowly, the delicious, near-gentle drag of it a stark contrast to the scorching heat that kept consuming him even with most of the Meritocrat’s cock withdrawn — and what a _glorious_ cock it was, just shy of too large and wickedly barbed in that specific way that _hurt_ , but in a way Wilde could not help but want more of —, and for a long, heart-stopping moment, Wilde forgot what _was to come_.

Only for a moment, however; only until Apophis snarled hotly against the back of his neck and snapped his hips forward to once again sink all of himself into Wilde. He moaned, the hoarse half-shout of it forced from his throat with the force of Apophis’s thrust, and his weakened fingers gripped at the too-cool, too-slick sheets beneath him as he tried one last time to find a way to withstand the flames that were Apophis’s hands on his hips and his teeth at the nape of his neck and the terrifying weight of him against the plane of Wilde’s back.

There were no more pauses now, no more careful withdrawals and slow, measured returns; Apophis was _greedy_ and he was _taking_ and all that was left to do was for Wilde to bow beneath him, to open himself and offer himself and give the dragon all that he demanded.

Time was a blurry thing lost to the push-and-drag that barely managed to remain a rhythm, a kaleidoscope of ache and desire and half-delirious grasping at what had once been a haphazard heap of a plan when Apophis’s long-fingered and longer-nailed hand slipped around to grasp his leaking prick and stroke in perfect synchrony with the bruising pressure in him.

Without meaning to, Wilde tensed around the dragon’s erection, and Apophis’s growl felt like it burned his skin away, scouring him down to his traitorous bones. He did it again, whimpering into the sheets (still too cool, but damp with his own panting breaths where his face was pressed into them) as Apophis finally, _finally_ gave up and simply slammed his hips forward and down once, twice, a third time.

Fire, liquid and real, filled Wilde, and he sobbed as the hand around his cock tightened and twisted expertly.

Wilde cried out as he came, a single bright note of agonised ecstasy, all the ephemeral power of their combined pleasure crystallised into sound. It sizzled on his tongue like flames or electricity, and it tasted faintly of hope as instead of letting it fly free and wild as it wanted, Wilde gave the note and all that lay inside it _direction._ It filled the room with his will, hung in the air around them for too long and then sharpened into an invisible knife-point that lanced through Apophis, colder than steel — as cold as Wilde’s own heart, in this pivotal moment in history and in his life — to forever freeze the core of fire and flame that lay at the heart of him.

Behind him, the dragon shuddered again, sucked in a ragged, shocked thing of a breath … and stilled, lifeless and limp, just as the last seismic shiver of Wilde’s own climax forced its way along his tired, burned-out muscles and nerves and Oscar 

blacked out.

— fin —

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaaand that's a Dead Fucking Meritocrat, lads 'n blokes.  
> Thank you so much for reading; I hope you enjoyed 💙


End file.
